


And they were pen pals!

by Rae_Saxon



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Fluff, Humour, M/M, The Master is a little bitch, but what else is new, cuddling!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26288830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rae_Saxon/pseuds/Rae_Saxon
Summary: The Master is bored in exile on Earth, the Doctor is bored on exile on Earth and both sign up for a pen pal program that ends up matching them and their little fake personas (who both absolutely, under no circumstances, work for secret organisations!) up. When they finally meet for a real date, the Master sees his chance to escape the exile - That is until the Doctor crashes them both on a deserted island.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Third Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	And they were pen pals!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valc0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valc0/gifts).



> Thanks to Valc0, who was responsible for the odd and immediately adopted prompt of "Three/Delgado, pen pal AU, a deserted island" and several diamonds of dialogue I've done my best to work in here. I did, however, abandon the idea of the Doctor yeeting the Master over the ocean like a beach ball - I hope you can forgive me. :D

Honestly, he'd take another World War over being stuck in this time period any day. He had, for a hot minute, considered starting another one. It really couldn't be that difficult, bloody humans fought about everything, no matter how irrelevant it was.

Who cared where someone came from, what colour their skin was, who they loved? Coming from a society without restrictions in gender and looks, it was completely incomprehensible for him – This petty obsession with everything that shouldn't matter.

He had been told to “go home” more times than he cared to count by now, and every single time (right after shrinking the person talking to him), it had given him a little stab in the hearts. No home left to go to. Nothing left to go with.

He was stuck here. For another 47 years. Doomed to watch humans progress slower than a flesh-eating space snake.

God, he couldn't stand another second on this backwater planet.

With a bored expression, the Master stepped through the streets of London, looking left and right for anything, anything interesting at all.

A flyer flew straight into his face, blocking his view and almost making him walk against someone, only dodging them last minute, while pulling the penetrant piece of paper off his face.

The man next to him giggled before crossing the street - annoyingly perfect stepping out of TCE range.

Today was a bad day all around.

The Master looked down on the flyer, sighing heavily through his teeth.

_  
Lonely? Bored? Looking for something to do? Get a pen pal from all around the country, now! Tell us your interests and we'll match you to the best possible pen pal just for you._

  
He supposed he'd have to take the cards the universe was dealing him.

_Dear O,_

_I feel like, after the last letter you've written me, some clarifications are in order._

_You'll find, I am quite busy, so writing you immediately is not always possible. Got quite the job to do – sorry, I'm afraid I can't tell you anything about it – and my friends... well, let's say they beg for my constant attention. Especially.... ah but I can't really tell you about him either._

_It's all rather complicated. I am, by no means, working for a secret anti alien organisation, but I can see how you would come to that conclusion, since I tend to be quite secretive. Aliens! Hah! I know you're quite interested in them, but please, my dear chap, stay on the grounds of solid facts, will you?_

_In turn, why don't you tell me a little about yourself? You've not mentioned any friends at all, while I have told you rather a lot of amusing anecdotes about my friend's moustache and you've never told me what you do for a living, either._

_I'm beginning to think maybe you're the one working for a secret organisation!_

_Love,_

_Dr. Joe Shaw_

It was a bit pathetic, really, but the Master had started to rather look forward to their correspondence over the last months. It was the only interesting thing happening in his current life and it was the furthest he came to travelling at the moment. To hearing from anywhere but dusty London, even if it was still Earth, still England.

He smirked at the usual harsh reply. He had soon caught onto the fact that someone wasn't being quite honest to him, and quite honestly, it intrigued him. Considering that the interest he had given them to match him up with had been “Universal domination, disguises and science”, he was rather keen on finding out what this certain individual was trying to hide from him.

Still, sometimes, and those were mostly the days the sting of boredom sat the deepest, he could feel himself get lost in it, in the daydream of exchanging letters with someone who wasn't human, but in fact....

_Doctor,_

_now you're just trying deflect and I can tell. But fine, if you insist – I am working for a secret organisation. There you go. I'm a spy. Fighting the bad guys. Or good guys. Whoever my boss wants me to fight, actually. It's hard to tell who's good or bad anymore, when everyone is so secretive._

_Not that I care much._

_Actually, I'm doing computer analysis. Not much fighting involved and it's terribly boring most of the time. But it does give me access to some quite interesting info. You say aliens don't exist, I say, look into organisations, like, for example, UNIT._

_What are they spending all their money on, I wonder, if aliens aren't real? And what's up with their weird scientific advisor?_

_We can only guess..._

_On another note – May I suggest a meeting of a sort? I'm not sure if you have anything going on with that weird friend and the moustache of his, but if not... hell, I could use some stimulation. Brain or otherwise. ;)_

_\- O_

Technically, none of that was true. He wasn't working for MI6 anymore (yet) and he knew exactly what was going on with UNIT's scientific advisor (but someone working for, let's say, the FBI finding out about it and questioning the Doctor? Precious!) - He was hopping from job to job, trying to find something that gave him any mental challenges at all, something that didn't bore him to death, with as little tedious human interaction as possible.

He had not yet found something coming even close.

Coming home from his new attempt as manager of a big company, he grabbed his mail before falling onto the sofa and throwing his shrunken client against the wall with a tired sigh – The easiest way to quit one's job, surely.

A new letter from his mysterious doctor. The fastest reply he had gotten in all their correspondence – The Master smirked.

_O,_

_I think that might be a good idea, actually. I am... quite bored. Quite so._

_I suggest we meet in the middle, let's say... next week at six? I have the exact location attached, please reply as quick as you can if that's working for you._

_Gives me a brilliant opportunity to.... test something out I am working on._

_I assure you, I am not involved with anyone wearing a moustache. At all. Well, maybe... a little? I rather prefer a properly groomed beard. You did... mention a beard, I believe?_

_Now, regarding UNIT and alien life, I suggest we talk about it in person. To cover the stimulation part that involves the brain._

_;) <\- Is that how the kids do it these days? Huh. Funny that. I thought that happens later._

_Love,_

_Dr. Joe Shaw_

The Master shook his head with a little smile, confused, but quite pleased. Nothing wrong, he thought, with a bit of casual sex with the cleverer specimen of human kind, to pass the time.

The Master walked up and down the little town square he had been ordered to, the yellow daffodil he had suggested as a recognition item pinned to his purple coat.

Honestly, that was just typical. Here he was, giving a human the honour of his attention, and of course that man had the audacity to be _late_.

He stared out into the crowd surrounding him. Laughing people, clinging together.... Urgh. The Master narrowed his eyes angrily, trying to spot a single person with a yellow daffodil.... and instead whirled around frantically when he heard the sound of a TARDIS materialising behind him.

With wide eyes, he watched the blue police phone box fade in and out of focus, before it finally stood solid and a man stumbled out, arms raised a victory.

The Master stared, open-mouthed - and many people around him had stopped to do the same – up at the Doctor, the actual Doctor, except it was the wrong one, this was the UNIT one, the one with the silly capes and the... the...

... the yellow daffodil pinned to his green velvet jacket.

The Master licked his lips. In a fortunate turn of events, it seemed the universe dealt cards just fine.

“Doctor Shaw, I assume?” he asked, holding out his hand as he stepped forward, pretending not to be fazed by the rather... unique appearance.

The Doctor took it with a little smile and he could see his eyes going up and down his body, taking it all in.

“Right,” he replied, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Just Doctor's fine, actually. Might not have been totally honest with my full name.”

“Really?” the Master replied, his lips twitching in amusement. “And here I was so honest about mine.”

“Right,” the Doctor said again, but his embarrassment seemed to fade now. “O's still fine, or...?”

“Perfectly fine,” he gave back, only half listening as his hungry gaze rested on the TARDIS. He didn't know how the old fool had gotten it to work, but if he could just steal it, find a good moment and squeeze in to finally, finally leave this planet behind...

“Oh, you must be confused, I'm so sorry,” the Doctor interrupted his daydreaming with a little chuckle. “You seemed so curious about alien life, I decided to do you a favour. Now, I have just gotten her to work again. Worked on fixing her for ages. Would you like a look inside?”

The Master looked from the ship to the Doctor and back again, biting his lower lip in barely contained excitement.

_Yesyesyesyesyes. I very much would._

_Keep it in your pants, Master. Keep up the act. Only a little bit longer._

“If you... insist?” he asked tentatively, trying to put on a confused expression, before pushing open the door with trembling hands and stepping inside.

It was a weird trip into the past. He'd been inside this TARDIS a few times, before the Doctor had changed it up and it gave him a pang to his hearts. Something of his awe must've been visible on his face, because when the Doctor followed him in and closed the door behind them, a hand in his pocket, he was smiling proudly.

“Incredible, isn't she?”

The Master quickly mumbled something of “bigger on the inside”, before trying to take his eyes off the console, swallowing down unwanted tears.

“That she is, that she is.”

“It's... alien?” the Master asked, finally feeling secure enough to turn back around to the Doctor. He knew what was expected of him, of course. Time to slip into the part of the wondrous companion – He was getting rather used to it. “ _You're_ alien?”

The Doctor nodded, still looking insufferably satisfied about the whole thing. He never could resist to show off to some pretty humans, could he?

“I couldn't tell you via letters, I'm sure you understand. But I thought I might take you for a trip instead, as an apology of sorts. I can take you to all of time and space.”

“Time?” the Master asked, trying to hide his smirk. “You mean you could... take me into the future? Say... 47 years?”

“Easily, dear chap.”

The Doctor walked past him towards the console and typed in coordinates. The Master felt his stomach lurch in excitement. He was leaving, he really, really was escaping this hell he had been trapped in and even better, he was doing it with the Doctor, the exact person who had him stuck here in the first place and now he was....

...

  
_Crashing?_

_Oh, no no no no._

“Doctor!”

“It's alright, it's alright, just a bit of... a hitch, really.”

He frantically pulled around levers on the console that the Master knew for a fact weren't going to do anything, before the TARDIS gave another start and he flew back against the wall, unable to reach the console again.

Smoke started rising, the alarm bell went off and the ship crashed out of the vortex in critical speed.

Great, the Master thought, while trying to fight himself forwards to the console. After everything he had survived, he now found his end in the Doctor's joke of a TARDIS.

Turned out that they both had survived the crash, even though, as the Master looked around the clearly deserted, steaming hot island they had landed on, he made a mental note to make sure the Doctor wouldn't much longer.

“Yes...” the Doctor muttered as he fought his way out of the smoking TARDIS, his velvet clothes covered in dust and his hair dishevelled. “Well...”

“You said it was fixed,” the Master let out through gritted teeth with barely contained anger. “ _Fixed_ , you said!”

“I... did I? Well, I thought, maybe, this time... but no, I suppose...”

“Go to hell!” the Master growled, before stomping off through the sand, not caring where he went, just as long as it brought as much distance between them as possible.

_Strangling_ , he thought, pretty sure he had listed that one before, but it was too beautiful to leave it up to chance. _Carving patterns into his skin with something sharp, until he bled out. Burning him alive. Poison his water. Shove a coconut down his throat until he choked to death._

Oddly, making a list of all the possibilities to murder the Doctor on this island did not help his rage subside. If anything, it made him a bit horny.

Trapped. Trapped yet again. Even less to do, even less space to explore to keep up the pretence of not being confined.

He had circled the island for the third time when he finally stumbled over the man in question sitting on the beach, trying to get a fire working to cook some fish he seemed to have caught. He had his jacket off and was sitting there in his stupid frill shirt, skin sweaty and wet from the water, glistening.

Who would've thought that just the right amount of horny could make rage go away after all?

With a groan of acknowledgement, he let himself fall into the sand opposite to him, watching him poking sticks through the fish.

The Doctor let his eyes flicker up to him shortly.

“You're a rather angry fellow, are you?”

The Master shrugged.

“It's not like I don't have many reasons not to be. Is one of those for me?”

The Doctor handed him a stick to hold into the fire.

“Honestly, it's not too bad. Been trapped on islands a couple of times, I'll find a way to get us off here.” The Doctor stared into the flames, apparently lost in thought. “Now, if only cellphones were already invented... I could call the Brigadier, have him send a ship...”

The Master frowned, his hand going to the inside of his coat automatically, where he felt for his own phone, eyes carefully on the Doctor to make sure he wasn't noticing.

There it was. Now, after they've eaten, he would just walk off a little and make a nice little phone call to UNIT to get them both off this island and the Doctor would never have to kn...-

The phone under his hand vibrated and to his utter shock and embarrassment, he had left it on full volume. For the fraction of a second, Avril Lavigne could be heard, announcing _“I'm the mother-fucking princess, bitch!”_ before the Master had jumped up, pulled out his phone and thrown it into the ocean.

The Doctor's head shot up in confusion.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” the Master asked, trying to collect the thoughts and calm down his clearly short-circuited brain.

“Was that a cellphone?”

“What is a cellphone?”

“That thing you just threw into the water!”

“Which water?”

The Doctor gave him an exasperated glare.

“What are you playing at, man? Your phone rang and you threw it into the ocean!”

He _had_ done that. Thinking back, probably a bad call – not the time for puns, except there was always time for puns.

The only person who had this number was the Doctor. She had tried to call him. She had tried to call him and he had thrown _his phone into the water._

“No idea what you're talking about,” the Master brought out, caught somewhere between a snicker and a panicked sob. “My phone is at home, on a cord, where it belongs.”

The Doctor turned back to his fish, clearly considering to stab him with the stick after he was done eating.

He'd say they were on the same page regarding the listing of murder methods, if it wasn't for the fact that the Master was several pages ahead.

It was still hot at night. They laid next to each other in the sand, because the Doctor, soppy as he was, had insisted he liked sleeping with the stars above him and the Master, practical as he was, still wasn't sure if the smoking TARDIS wasn't about to explode.

He had spread out his coat beneath him, waistcoat a bit further away, but he could still feel sweat building and damping his shirt and hair.

“I hate it here. I hate everything about it.”

Well, almost everything. With a side-glance to the Doctor, who still had his eyes opened and transfixed onto the stars, he rolled over, closer to the man and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

_Better._

The Doctor let him lie there for a short while, then started shaking his upper body to free himself from his grasp.  
  
The Master, who had just gotten comfy on his chest, smashed with his chin back into the sand and quickly got up with another angry glare.

“What? You trap me on here with you and now I'm not even getting cuddled?” He sounded like a spiteful little kid and he did not care one bit.

The Doctor, at the very least, had the decency to look apologetic.

“Sorry, old chap, it's just... too hot for that sort of thing.”

“ _You're_ too hot for that sort of thing,” the Master hissed spitefully, then realised that was not quite the emotion he had wanted to transport and spent the rest of the – rather lonely, annoying – night wishing he could take it back.

The next day, while the Doctor was exploring the island for material to build a boat – because that was going to go well – he sneaked into his TARDIS and looked around the mess. The smoke had finally stopped rising and the immediate danger of it exploding seemed banned for now, but there was not much to savage, really. This ship was missing essential parts, from what he could see, parts the Time Lords had probably taken before making the Doctor forget about it and that old fool was still tinkering around with it, thinking he was capable of fixing it.

With a sigh, the Master took what he could use, found himself a useful little spot in the forest where he hoped the Doctor wouldn't spot him and got to work. He had important devices to build, inventions to make. And it, quite frankly, wasn't the first time he had made it rain, either.

When the Doctor returned hours later, he was drained from rain. Grumpily, he let the wood underneath his arm fall into the sand and sat down in the pouring rain, staring at their damp fire spot.

The Master suppressed a grin.

“At least it's cooled down, huh?” he asked, trying to seem innocent, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood there.

The Doctor turned around with a sigh.

“I suppose so.”

“I found a little cave a bit into the forest, if you would like some cover from the rain.” He sounded a little too cheerful, but the Doctor's looks at him had grown suspicious ever since the cellphone incident, so, really, it didn't matter, did it?

What mattered, however, was that this night, the Doctor was out of an excuse to push him away and they rested huddled up in an uncomfortable little cave, listening to the drumming of the rain. The Master had his head on his chest again, listening to the comforting double heart beat, feeling more relaxed than he had the last 40 years.

He was so bloody tall, always making the Master look up to him (like he wasn't used to it) – But it, at least, made cuddling even more comfortable. He felt all wrapped up and protected. It was stupid and he would shrink everyone seeing him this way, but he still enjoyed the feeling.

The Doctor, seemingly forgetting about all his suspicions at night time, ran his fingers through his hair gently and honestly, it was fine. Thirty years of being stuck on Earth had almost been worth it for that quiet, gentle night, in which both of them failed to mention that they could've just as well slept in the Doctor's TARDIS, in different, dry, comfortable beds.

They spent the next three days like that, fighting and bickering at day, laughing at each other's attempts to catch fish and falling head-first into the ocean, working on that horrendous boat that wasn't going to get them anywhere and that the Master, under absolutely no circumstances, was ever going to set a foot on, and spending the nights cuddling.

It was better than all the other days of his exile on Earth combined. Of course it was.

The Doctor was there.

Every beautiful, peaceful time, however, found its painful end, especially when it came to the Master's life. On an early evening, when he was working hard on manipulating the progress of the boat, left alone while the Doctor was getting more wood, he was finally interrupted by a somewhat demonstrative cough.

Looking up, he found the Doctor, holding up his weather machine with an accusing glare.

“What... impressive technology,” the Master tried and was rewarded, instantly, with the impressive technology being thrown at his face.

“I take it you are responsible for me feeling like I'll never be dry again?” the Doctor asked harshly.

“I do get it from a lot of women, but...”

“Oh, shut up,” the Doctor roared, kicking his device while it was already on the ground – Just plain rude, the man.

“It's _you_ then, isn't it?” he called out, making the Master roll his eyes.

“Of course it's _me_. Look at you. I forgot you were the one who refuses to use my name.”

“When were you planning on telling me?” the Doctor hissed, flailing his arms around unnecessarily. It was almost comedic.

“Honestly? Never. It's really not my fault you look at someone calling themselves 'O' and think 'yes, this is perfectly legitimate'.”

Twice, the Master added in his thoughts, suppressing a cackle.

Apparently he hadn't done a great job, because the Doctor turned around to him, looking even angrier.

“You think this is funny?”

“A little bit. I mean, considering how smart you pretend to be, it's embarrassingly easy to trick you.”

“You didn't trick me. I knew something was up immediately.”

“Oh yeah?” the Master grinned deviously, a silly idea forming in his head. “You just wait. I'll use the exact same disguise and pseud and trick you into thinking I'm your friend in the future. Something to look forward to.”

The Doctor regarded him with a frown.

“What do you mean? You _are_ my friend.”  
  
The Master's grin died off his face in record speed, his eyes tearing up against his will and when he finally managed to speak, his voice broke audibly.

“I... am?”

“Why, of course,” the Doctor replied, obvious confusion in his tone now. “I know, we sometimes can get a bit... err.. heated, but...”

Before he could finish the sentence, before he could say anything to ruin it, the Master had grabbed his stupid frills, pulled him down to him and kissed him hard. He might be tiny in comparison, but he had never had any problems with bringing people down to his level.

The Doctor got over his surprise quickly, closing his eyes as he kissed him gently and the Master sighed, feeling relief coming off him in waves.

“Now,” the Doctor said softly, after a whole while of them just standing arm in arm, “we still have to find a way to get off this island, old chap.”

The Master thought about it, he really did. Thought about how long it would take him until he got sick of fish and coconuts and settled for a week.

He'd wait a week before he reminded the Doctor that he had a working phone connected to his TARDIS.


End file.
